2.13 - Nerves of Seal (Part One)

Become a Patron to read ahead!

Hey everyone! I have to do the thing where I split up the chapter again. P2 coming very soon!

...

13.

The latest blog post from News of the Blues, the leading news and views platform for all things Chester FC.

The Only Way Is Up!

Chester sealed their fourth promotion in as many seasons with a thumping 5-0 win over Bradford City at Valley Parade. The Championship awaits.

When Max Best arrived at our little football club, the Seals were making trips to Peterborough Sports, Farsley Celtic, and Leamington. A thoroughly depressing 1-0 defeat at Banbury remains vivid in the memory. Next season's away days will include Birmingham City, Blackburn, Stoke. Famous clubs in historic stadiums! Oh, and Wrexham.

It's mind-blowing stuff, but there will be plenty of time to reflect on what has happened. Back to Valley Parade, which in the first minute was a seething cauldron of noise but by the end was virtually empty.

It was, to use the old cliche, a game of two halves. The first saw Max Best channeling the ghost of Norman 'Bites Yer Legs' Hunter. The joke was going round at half time that someone had phoned Emma Weaver, Max's partner, to inform her that he had a damaged leg. 'Oh yes?' she is said to have replied. 'To whom does it belong?'

What was the reason for Best's ire? Take your pick from the Star family, the Wester family, the Brown family. Best had stated his intention to 'pummel' the Bantams, and that he did. During a bruising 45 minutes, he was involved in so many collisions, bumps, and outright crashes that his insurance premiums will have at least doubled. At times it seemed that he was only creating and scoring goals so he could rush to the home team's bench to give them what-for.

We in the stands were braced for more of the same in the second half, but to our surprise, Chester played serene football, passing the ball around at will, never letting Bradford near it, and when the home team lost concentration the Seals poured forward into gaps.

Goals from Wibbers and Colin Beckton put the gloss on the result, though there was only one candidate for man of the match. Best created a goal for Gabriel, scored two himself, and played as a defensive midfielder in the second half, giving Bradford's danger man Raffi Brown nary a kick. Best did it while giving away no fouls, while smiling, while coaching the young players who came on in the second half.

A game of two halves, but one where Chester were thoroughly on top in both.

We fans, we band of brothers, we happy few, we rose to the occasion with aplomb. The party in the away end started after the first goal and is scheduled to finish some time on Monday. Edit: Tuesday. Edit: August?

A few minutes after the final whistle, Chester's social media team got busy. They announced that the away end would be pulled down following the last day of the season. They confirmed the signings of Helge Hagen and the two young players - many were alarmed to realise those deals were contingent on us getting promoted, though it makes sense. League One Chester can't be throwing around such amounts!

There was even a hint that Christian Fierce would be offered a new contract. Many outsiders have doubted him these past years, but he will remain our captain in the Championship. What a story that is, and there are similar ones everywhere you look. Magnus Evergreen! Exit Trialists! Lads found on holiday beaches or in church pews! Bark and Pascal Bochum, who Best spotted in sixth tier Darlington. Bark is now a Championship player, while Bockers today bagged his first assist in the Bundesliga.

The only blot on the day's copybook was that the odious Folke Wester was not sacked immediately after the match. We're hearing reports that he will be given 'the dreaded vote of confidence' in the next 48 hours, meaning that Chip Star will pretend to support his manager. No doubt Wester will be sacked the next time Bradford play poorly or lose, but Max Best will not be able to claim the credit. I'll claim it for him - today he showed Wester's limitations so completely that in any other industry he would never work again.

Wester and Bradford join a long list of part-time rivals who couldn't match Chester's relentless pace. Darlington, Kidderminster, Grimsby, Mansfield. They competed hard and well but they are stuck in the depths while we are ascending to new heights.

Onwards and upwards... but first, we're going south... to Wembley!

The only way is down!

COYS!

***

Sunday, April 4 - Six Days To Go

Squad Morale: 5.8 (out of 7)

Dani Smith-Smithe: Oh you're not coming today that's okay I like Colin but I wanted to check something with you. Brooke wants me to do a minute-by-minute match commentary during the cup final as part of the Chester Chatters coverage. She said I can sit in the media centre or with the rest of the women and both ways sound crazy good. In the media centre at Wembley Stadium! But I wanted to check with you first because I might have to slag you off, lol!

Me: It sounds like a lot of fun. Do it! You can rip into us if we deserve it. It's better that way.

Dani: Oh I just got butterflies. Maybe this is a bad idea.

Me: It's not. You'll be fine. It's just typing! Any clown can do it.

Dani: Will you tell me the tactics so I can seem smarter than I am? lollll

Me: Maybe. It's going to be super simple. The players are going to be nervous, right, so I'm thinking we should have a simple formation, stick to a simple plan.

Dani: Plan A: pass to Max. Plan B: do plan A better.

Me: Hey, have you been reading my notes?

Dani: OMG lol you're so funny. You must be dead nervous though, same as everyone else.

Me: Yes. So so nervous. Be nice to Colin today, please. He works really hard getting ready for these matches.

When the women had put second-placed Durham to the sword, we all but secured the league title. To drop out of first, we would need to lose our remaining three league games, and that wasn't going to happen.

I left Colin Beckton in charge for the match against Halifax (average CA 52, not a threat), and invited a bunch of people to come and watch Tranmere Rovers with me. There were things I wanted to say to these people, and I was hoping the setting would reduce the amount of cup final-related banter because anticipation of that event was making everyone just a little bit crazy. In an executive suite at Prenton Park, the main topic of conversation would be Tranmere and their push for promotion and I would be spared the Wembley chats. That was the hope, anyway.

Tranmere were owned by Mateo, my rich Spanish-English mate. He and the club had been amazingly kind to me when I was recuperating from my coma, and I had repaid their kindness by loaning myself to Tranmere for a month to move them out of relegation trouble. Another crap season had followed for them before Mateo really started to listen to my advice. He put my mentor Jackie Reaper in charge of the men's team and signed some players I had recommended, and now those moves were paying off.

Jackie was an elite coach and he - not to be too arrogant about it - had learned from me about how rotating the team helped players improve, and how giving minutes to talented youngsters was worth some short-term pain. Those lads might cost you points in the early part of a year but would more than pay off later.

Exeter City, a fan-owned club - yay - had pulled ahead at the top of League Two, leaving two automatic promotion slots for four teams to fight over: Tranmere, Fleetwood Town, Port Vale, and Cambridge United. Tranmere were second in the league by one point, which to most people seemed a slender advantage. I felt pretty confident, but it was true that any slip-ups meant they could fall as low as 5th. It was really exciting stuff and the race would almost certainly go down to the wire.

One advantage Tranmere had was that when their team was on a roll, their fans were incredibly passionate and noisy. The acoustics in Prenton Park made it an intimidating place for visiting teams. An early kick-off on a Sunday was normally the exception to the rule because fans couldn't get suitably boozed-up in time for the match, but today they were fucking deafening and I loved it.

Sandra Lane and her partner Aiden were in Mateo's executive box with me, not for any ulterior motive except it was a chance to spend time with my godson, Jamie Lane-Beeks. He was sixteen months old and full of energy. Or so I was told. It seemed to me that whenever I met him, all I had to do was pick him up, bounce him a few times, and he fell right asleep. Right now he was using my shoulder as a pillow. 16,000 football fans screaming their heads off? Just a lullaby for JLB. I kept checking to see if he had started drooling. Maybe he had grown out of that? What I knew about babies could be written on Jackie Reaper's bald head with a thick marker pen.

"I love Jamie's top," I said, as I stepped left and right, always keeping my eye on the pitch. I needed every scrap of XP I could get this week so I could power up before the cup final. Jamie was in full Chester kit, with his name on the back but no squad number because we didn't know his position yet.

"Oh, do you love it?" said Aiden, sarcastically. "You told him he has to wear it to the football and for some reason he thinks you're the bomb. He throws a tantrum if we try to put him in anything else."

I did a soothing baby-talk voice. "Don't want him growing up supporting a sportswashing project, do we? Just because his mums are fans of an oil-drenched, ten-horned multi-club beast that is more a harbinger of the end times than anything to do with the joy of kicking a ball around doesn't mean poor little Jamie needs to fall to their level. He doesn't want to cheer for industrial-scale cheats, does he? No, he doesn't. He's a good boy and a sweet boy and it's Chesterness for him all day long!" Had he been awake I would have lifted him over my head and he would have cackled with approval.

Sandra said, "There are 13 clubs in The City Group, not ten."

I continued in baby voice. "Sowwy my rant wasn't accurate, mommy. Sowwy I didn't know how many clubs were being cowwupted by their nasty, flailing tendrils." I went to my normal voice. "Tendrils or tentacles? Thoughts, anyone?"

Mateo and MD were doing big-boy chats nearby but had paused to listen to my performance. Mateo said, "Normally we wouldn't let someone wear a Chester top in here, but for Jamie, we'll make an exception."

"You'd better make an exception," I said, back in my babyish sing-song voice, "or The Godfather will turn fucking feral, won't he? Yes, he will! Yes, he will!"

I checked the rest of the sitch and felt a great deal of contentment.

Emma was talking to Rachel (Mateo's wife), Livia (one of Chester's physios and Jackie's only girlfriend) and Ruth, the CEO of a fast-growing sports agency whose client base just so happened to be players I had scouted and liked. Emma was a co-founder who, like Ruth, owned a quarter of the company, while half the shares were in the hands of an opaque string of companies based in all kinds of tax havens, none of which could be traced to me. The agency represented six Tranmere players so it was good for Ruth to visit Prenton Park from time to time.

Sandra Lane wasn't the only person in the box who had a coaching profile. I had also invited Llewellyn Kenrick (AKA 'Well In'), the manager of Saltney Town and assistant manager for the Welsh national team, who was chatting to the young West Didsbury manager Jay Cope.

Well In had the best profile in terms of numbers - 20s in multiple key slots - but Sandra's profile complemented my skills really well, while Jay's was improving slowly but surely. He was only 23. God knows what his profile would look like when he was the normal age for a football manager.

The Brig was my bodyguard for the day, though his primary mission was to keep baddies away from Emma, who had once had a bad experience in this stadium. "Sir," he said, coming to my side and bringing Mateo's driver along with him. John Driver was a great guy who did a bit of everything for Mateo. When Jamie was older, I would tell him that if he ever got into any trouble he couldn't handle, he needed to go straight to the Brig or John Driver. "May we ask what you think of the match?"

"Sure," I said. "Jackie's got Tranmere playing 3-5-2, his favourite, but because he's got Jack the Lad as the left midfielder, it's an easy switch to four-at-the-back."

"I see. That's one of your tricks."

"I didn't invent it but I probably use it more than anyone else in the history of the game." I checked the match ratings, the possession stats, the shots count. "Cheltenham are very good. The teams are evenly matched, tbh. Tranmere have better Form and Morale and home advantage but it's not like a clear difference, if you get me."

The away team had an average CA of 88.

"What's fascinating to me is how much Tranmere have improved since last season." They had gone from being CA 77 then to 87 now, which wasn't unprecedented but was definitely rare. "I'll take some of the credit for tweaking the squad but Jackie has kicked arse, it looks like. He's such a great coach! The first team's much more serious and the wider squad is coming along. It's not such a huge gap from the first eleven to the rest. There's more depth, and the young players are closer to the levels."

"My players?" said Ruth, and I realised that everyone was listening.

I smiled. We had found a couple of lads at an Exit Trial at a time when Chester were too far down the pyramid to be a realistic destination. Tranmere Rovers was an easy sell even to a guy dropping out of a Premier League academy. "Yes. Lucas is League Two ready."

Lucas Cook was a PA 142 striker, a real gem, but his development had been slow until Jackie had taken over. He had put on a burst of CA but that had slowed again, this time for more forgivable reasons. With the stakes being as high as they were, Jackie couldn't give Lucas meaningful minutes in the first team. The striker was CA 75, so if he got on the pitch he would show on Pradeep's EDO tool as a weak blob, the same as Adam Summerhays. I would snap him up if I thought Mateo would sell him.

"Nelson's going a little slower." Nelson Smith-Howes was a PA 139 right midfielder. Another incredible prospect for a team like Tranmere, another player they had mismanaged; he was only CA 69. "If Tranmere stay in League Two, both players will be great next season. If Tranmere go up, you should get them a loan to a League Two club that will use them."

"I don't want my players going down divisions," said Ruth. She got tigerish about her charges, which was one of the many things the Brig liked about her. "Number goes up."

"They need a season with regular football and for them that means League Two. They're behind where they could have been but they'll still be Championship-ready by the time they're 23 or 24 and they don't have loads of minutes in their legs so they can go further into their thirties. It's all good, Ruth. Bosh. Max Best has spoken. Hasn't he, Jamie? Yes, he has."

MD said, "What are Tranmere's odds of going up?"

"Oh, pretty good, I reckon. Today's a really tough one but the rest of their fixtures are much more forgiving. Even with a bad result today, they should finish in the top three." I spotted Livia, who was normally cool, calm, and collected, but was a nervous passenger when Jackie Reaper was driving the team. I reached out to give her a friendly shoulder-shake. "Liv, it's fine. Honestly."

She tried to smile, but it burned up on approach. "I'm bricking it. Every time the other team has a shot, it's like a dagger."

"Think of it as acupuncture," I suggested.

She turned to face me, full-on, her eyes massive and pleading. "Can you do something?"

"Me?" I laughed. "Like what?"

"I don't know. Do a tactic."

"Yeah babes," said Emma. "Do a tactic."

I brought up the match overview screens and checked out the relative formations. "Mateo, who do you have in the dugout who's got a phone on them?"

"Vimsy," he said.

Vimsy had been one of the coaches at Chester when I had rocked up. We had clashed because he was a dinosaur and he thought I was a giant comet hurtling towards the game he loved. When I smashed into him, though, he realised that I was actually a robo-saur who liked many of the same things about football as he did, and he had tried to adapt to my way of working. He was now Jackie's assistant manager. "Livia, call him."

Her phone was already in her hand. "What do I say?"

"Ask why they're so scared about the left-winger. Say, ah... Say no-one has been that afraid of a left-winger since Jeremy Corbyn was kicked out of the Labour Party. Wait, is that shit? That sounded shit. Do that joke but funnier."

"Vimsy," she said, into the phone. "It's Livia. Why is Jack so worried about the left-winger?" I peered down at the dugout area but couldn't see Vimsy or Jackie. "Uh-huh," said Livia. She turned to me. "He said, 'Is Max with you?'"

That got a big laugh from everyone in the box. "Just ask what he's playing at."

Livia listened and repeated what she heard. "They're worried because he's leading the league in crosses from the left and he's got the most assists from midfield."

"Yeah but his form's shit. Tell them to look up when the guy's last assist even was. I bet it wasn't in the last five games." The curse gave players a small match rating boost for an assist and a bigger one for a goal. The winger's Form went 5-4-6-5-6. Based on that, he was not someone to base your entire tactical plan around.

MD was fascinated. "What are you seeing?"

"Tranmere are sort of tilting. Everyone's playing a couple of yards to the right. Why? Because you're worried about what the oppo might do. Which, yeah, fair enough, but this guy's head's gone. I wonder if there was a transfer bid for him that the club turned down so he's sulking. Or maybe someone in his family's sick or something. Cheltenham could still make the playoffs so it's not like he's on the beach, just waiting for the season to end."

Livia said, "Vimsy says Jackie's worried about leaving him one-on-one with our right mid."

I nodded. The right mid was comfortably Tranmere's weakest player. "Move Tyler Jansen to be the right-sided of the three CMs. Put Dan Badford in the middle. He can do it. Hashtag trust Dan. Okay, bye."

Emma rubbed my back while stroking Jamie's hair. "That didn't seem like a very big tactic."

"It's not," I said. "But if Jackie tells his players to go back to their normal positions, their normal spacing, it's like telling them hey, we got this. Could be a little confidence boost just at the right time."

Livia gulped, tried to smile again, and whispered, "Thanks, Max."

I dipped out of conversations for a while, focusing hard on the match. For five minutes, Jackie didn't change anything, but then he made the tweaks I suggested.

Jay Cope, Tactics 19, spotted the exact moment. "Wow. Nice to have an eye-in-the-sky helping you out."

I smiled at him. "You've been flying solo at West, haven't you?"

"Oh, I'm not complaining," he said. Jay was such an interesting character because he looked like a random Mancunian lad with an office job. He tended to wear casual clothes, had a soft face, liked a pint, liked a joke, was just a great hang. Discipline 8 meant he wouldn't scream at a player for being late but that there were limits. You couldn't take the piss. When I had discovered him managing an amateur team, that number had been 7, so the West Didsbury job was definitely changing him. "Are you nervous about the cup final?"

"Um..." I felt from the way he had asked the question that I was supposed to give a certain answer. "Yeah, big time. Woof, big stadium, isn't it? We're emptying Chester for the day. Here, check this out."

I opened my photos app and showed Jay a sandwich board outside a cafe. The owner had written: PROUDLY CLOSED APRIL 10 AND 11 TO SUPPORT THE LADS. GOING DAHN LONDON WOOHOO COME ON!

"This was the first one, we think, and after it went viral it sort of spread. If you aren't closed this weekend you're not proper Chester, you know? They’re using the hashtag ‘the only way is down’." I swiped through pics of copycat signs, then shoved my phone back into my trousers. "Brooke's thinking there will be thousands of tourists in Chester on Saturday but there won't be any shops open for them. Nowhere to eat. She has organised a sort of fanzone so all those lost souls walking around a ghost town can get together and have some food and drink and hey, why not watch the match with us while you're at it?"

Jay was grinning hard. "Always hustling to build the fan base. Is it really going to be empty? The city?"

"I mean, yeah. Anyone local is going so it'll just be the bars that have all Spanish waiters that will be open. But even then you've got places like Tiny Tino - a Portuguese restaurant - who are converted Seals and I know for a fact that they're going down. Emre, my Turkish mate, who comes and does kebabs in the away end, he's going down. It's... yeah. Chester's gonna be deserted. It'll be really creepy!"

I thought about those scenes in movies where the hero was walking around a completely empty New York City or London.

"Yeah, creepy. All the people will be down in London watching us." A pulse of excitement shot through me, but it faded pretty fast. It was a spark that failed to ignite a fire. "I think... I think it's too early for me to get proper into it. I've actually got a pretty busy week of planning for the future. Now that we're definitely promoted I can spend some money and make some decisions. Ideally I won't get nervous until, like, Friday night."

"You want to be nervous before a match, right? A few butterflies help you play well."

"Um..." I said, thinking about it. "I'm pretty sure I will play well. I'll win my duels on the pitch and in the dugout. I'm not... I don't quite have the... Look, the fire's gonna come when we get to the stadium, isn't it? But, like..." I didn't know what to say, so I simply said, "Que Será, Será."

"Whatever will be, will be."

"Yeah." I concentrated, wondering what I was feeling. I'd experienced this before. Complacency? It couldn't be that. "I think we're well-prepared. We have a tactical plan, the squad is in a good state, we have a full week to keep preparing for it. We will be more prepared than Portsmouth, that's for sure. What more can we do? We've done everything.

"And we're doing more," I said, as if trying to convince Jay, though of course I was trying to convince myself. "I'll be watching loads of video through the week and I've asked for some extra charts and stats. Things could go wrong. There's always one player who gets injured and messes up your plan, right? As long as it isn't Wibbers, we'll be fine. I won't have any regrets this weekend, I don't think. Although..."

"What?"

"I was thinking about how to totally mess Portsmouth up and we could do it if we still had Pascal. But we had to sell him when we did, so... There's just no point stressing about any of it, right? Okay, listen," I said, getting quieter, and nodding towards the side of the space so we could have something of a private chat. "I know it's crunch time in the league for you..."

Jay's West Didsbury side had gone on a bit of a run and dragged themselves level with their rivals for the title. Both teams had the same number of points, but West were eight goals behind on goal difference. While we had been dispatching Bradford, West had been putting up the same exact scoreline. They had won 5-0, and the vibe was very much, 'we can do this'. They were going into matches all guns blazing because if they fell short, they would have to take their chances in the playoffs - a real lottery. Jay said, "Go on. What are you thinking?"

"Yeah, it's just that since Chester are definitely up I can start planning for next season. I know you're happy at West and you want to bring them all the way to the EFL, but long story short, you're my first choice to manage Chester Women. WSL 2, fully professional, access to all our new swag at Bumpers and Saltney. You'll have a brilliant squad that I plan to reinforce in a big way this summer."

"What about West?"

"West will be fine. It's a lot easier to find someone who can do well in the National League North than in a fully-professional second tier, right?"

"This is a surprise."

"I haven't told anyone."

"Except Jamie."

I rubbed my godson's weirdly bumpy head. "Yeah. He knows. He won't blab, though. He's a ledge."

"When do you need a decision?"

"Oh. I mean, no particular rush. I can keep one of my flats free for a few weeks and if you decide to make the jump, you can stay there while you're settling into the area. We'll help you move and all that so don't worry about the logistics and don't worry about the salary; it will be decent. Just think if you want to do it from a footballing perspective. You could come and watch some training sessions this week and get a feel for the vibe."

"That's a good idea. I might do that. It's a big step up, though, isn't it?"

In curse terms, Jay was currently in a 1 XP per minute league and I was asking him to move to a 6 XP per minute one. "Yep. I've got no doubts you can make it, though. I assume the other managers in WSL 2 will be decent but seriously, I'm going to give you a squad that will just blow everyone away. You'll be able to make a few mistakes and get away with it, and I'll be at most of the matches. I'll be your assistant if you're cool with that."

"You'll be my assistant?"

"Yeah. Maybe we can say co-manager." That way, I would get double the XP while not necessarily doing any of the work. Heh. The co-manager hack was one of my better moves. "But I won't be in your hair the whole season; I've got to do my UEFA Pro badge next year and I've got a few things lined up like trying to get Saltney into the Champions League. You'll get top support though, I promise."

"What about Colin?"

I blinked. "What about him?"

"He's managing them today, isn't he? Won't he want the job?"

"Colin doesn't have three league titles in a row on his CV."

"Neither do I."

"You've got two and a half. Look, Colin came to Chester to get into coaching and me trusting him to manage games - and him winning them - is good for his career, isn't it? I appreciate him stepping down a level to help us out and I'm paying him back. Also the end of the documentary could be boring so this adds a bit of spice and jeopardy. I mean, not really, not to me, but to the outside world it could seem like the stakes got higher. It's a tiny twist at the end. Everyone loves twists, right?"

"Not me."

"Yeah, you do."

"But Max, seriously, do I need to win the league to get the job?"

"No. It's yours whatever happens. My only comment on that is that I'd prefer you to win outright instead of via the playoffs so you can start earlier! But whatevs. You've done amazing work this season and that won't change if a referee gives a couple of dodgy penalties against us, right? No, you're my dude."

"Won't the women think I'm too young?"

"You're older than Pascal Bochum. I get that those are very big tiny boots to fill. Heh."

"Why me? Is it because you're worried I'll take the Bradford City job?"

I turned pale. Losing Jay Cope from my list of allies would be ten times worse than losing the cup final, but to lose him to Team Star would be... My stomach clenched, my hands were in that state where any second now they would start shaking. "What?"

"Like, if Wester is sacked, Chip Star might try... You know, to piss you off."

"Is this...?"

"Hypothetical? Yeah."

The relief was so intense it threatened to emerge as pure anger. "Mate, don't make my blood run cold when I'm holding a baby! I thought you said you didn't like twists." I took a breath - it helped. "Twisting the knife right into my soul."

"Sorry," he said. He didn't look very sorry.

The tingling feeling in my fingers faded away, though I felt the tops of my cheeks must have still been red; they were burning. I forced myself to return to his question. "Why you?" I rearranged Jamie slightly thinking that I could count on my fingers, but he stirred and I abandoned the idea. "You're tactically brave. Fearless, even.

"You run matches like you're playing Soccer Supremo, meaning you have an overview but can get into the weeds and you're quick to change things that aren't working. You understand about resting players and managing injuries so we get more out of our assets long-term.

"When I give you feedback on issues I've seen, you're receptive. That'll be needed with this group of women because they're like you - they want to learn and improve and they can handle a bit of honesty and will give it back when it's merited.

"Do you still prefer 4-3-3? You might have to park that next season because our good right back is preggers."

He put his hand to his forehead, eyes wide. "Players get pregnant!"

I laughed. "Yeah, I know. Mad, innit? But that's another point in your favour. When I heard that news, I was like oh my God I'm going to say something stupid, oh shit what do I even do? You'll just be super chill and you'll go 'Oh, wow, wonderful! When are you due?' Or whatever you're supposed to say. You've got a drive to win but you've got perspective, too. You're better with people than me. Nah, you're just mint."

Jay listened to all that while peering out onto the pitch. Finally, he said, "That tweak is working."

"Yep."

The home fans were getting louder. Someone was slapping something metallic and it was resonating like a drum. "Um... Okay, look, it's really tempting for all sorts of reasons but I wanted to be the guy who welcomed West to the new stadium."

I shook my head. "Who knows how long that could take? Think about my summer. In one dimension, I'm scrabbling around to fill vacancies, I'm scrambling to flesh out the women's squad. In another one, I've got a top manager in place and I get my transfer business done early. Or at least I get my targets lined up and I let Ruth and Ryan negotiate the deals. Then I can go fucking full-tilt at Saltney's European charge, right? If I can get them into the actual Champions League, I'll get enough money to do West's stadium. Like, I could theoretically earn that much money in one month."

"Jesus."

"I know. It's not the most likely outcome, but just imagine! I'm not saying the best thing for West is for you to take the job, but... Hang on, that is what I'm saying."

He smiled. "And if I choose to stay at West?"

"Absolutely fine. Just don't be mad at me if we have this conversation again the same time next year."

He sipped on his lite beer and mumbled, "Nice to be wanted."

I tilted my head. "I thought you were getting loads of job offers."

"Nice to be wanted by someone who matters."

"Aww," I said. "Did you hear that Jamie? Uncle Jay's such a charmer. The women are gonna love him, aren't they? Yes, they are!"

***

Next I took Well In aside, and brought MD with me. Mateo wanted to listen in and it was his box, after all.

"Well In," I said. "Everything good with you?"

He actually thought about it before replying. "I'd say I've never been happier, all told."

"Bosh," I said.

Mateo said, "Well In, I apologise but I've been locked in my own promotion battle and haven't been tracking your title fight. How's that going?"

"Very well," said Well In. "TNS are chasing hard but games are running out. We won on Friday night and that was a big step closer to the title. We can afford one slip-up but TNS can't. It's a good place to be."

MD said, "And everything else is going fantastically well. The training complex is on schedule, the stadium will be ready in time, we're completely on target. I'm nervous about being in the Champions League qualifiers in..." He checked his watch. "Two months! Oh, Christ."

"It'll be fine," I said. "If Well In's happy and wants to stay."

The man himself seemed surprised I was asking. "Of course."

"I don't want to presume anything, mate. You're a hot prospect."

"The job is perfect and I get to represent my country, too. What could be better?"

I shrugged, which made Jamie rearrange himself. "Wrexham? They'll need someone soon. If you're not in their top three targets, they're not doing their job very well."

MD nodded. "Three straight league titles - touch wood - cup runs, and you have had a very positive effect on the Welsh national team. Your name is out there, in Wales at least."

Mateo was thinking fast. "It'd be a grand way to get one over on Max, too. The Wrexham fans would love it."

Well In didn't appear to have thought about it. "Huh. Wrexham? I mean..." I think he was imagining a bathtub into which he was tipping briefcases full of cash before getting in, naked apart from thirty gold necklaces. Or maybe that was just where my mind would go in such a scenario. He shook his head. "I don't think so."

I did a slow-motion fist pump. "Are you sure?"

"Pretty sure, Max, yes."

Mateo nudged him. "Ask for a pay rise, right now."

Well In tried his luck. "Can I - ?"

MD said, "Yes."

I said, "We'll cut you in on the UEFA prize money, too. But to be honest, you could rinse Wrexham for serious wonga that we can't match. Yet."

"Wrexham don't have a hundred super-talented Welsh boys barreling their way through the age groups, do they? I'm at the start of something very exciting. For me and for Welsh football. The only way is up, isn't it, Max?"

"It is," I said. "I wanted to check that you're okay with me strutting around like I own the place, which everyone knows I don't."

"Hey," said Well In, "if you shoot us into the Champions League group stage and I'm the manager for eight matches against the best teams in Europe, that's all right by me. I get a percentage, do I?" His smile dimmed a little as he imagined naming Tyson and Lucas Friend in a competitive match against Liverpool. "You're going to improve the squad, I hope?"

"Yeah," I said. "MD and I need to agree a budget but there's no reason not to go absolutely bonkers." MD looked alarmed for some reason. To Well In, I said, "Are you happy with Tom Westwood as a striking option?"

"Are you?"

"Yes," I said. Tom was a nuisance, a guy who would run all day, who got in defender's faces, who worked tirelessly for the team. I had been hoping he would hit his ceiling this year, but he had hit a soft cap at CA 83 and many weeks later he was only on 84. That was about 20 points higher than TNS, the next-best team in Wales, so it made some kind of sense.

Messi wouldn't have hit PA 200 by playing in Wales, right? It was part of my overall job to raise the standards so that Saltney's players could get higher. In the meantime, Tom would benefit from another year that included matches against high-level opposition.

"I think he'll be really useful in European matches because if we're suffering, he's an out ball." That meant we could boof it in his direction and more often than not, he would be able to do something with it.

MD was surprised. "You would use one of our loan slots on Tom?"

Chester could loan a maximum of three players to Saltney for the start of the season. One would be me. One would almost certainly be Wibbers. The third was up for grabs depending on how the squad was looking. "No. I want to sell Tom to Saltney."

"Oh."

"Right. We should get the Chester fans to put together a panel so that we can agree on a fair price for him. I want it to be cheap but I don't want our supporters feeling cheated. But I need to talk to Tom. I know he's loving being the big dog there, playing every week, being a star. He's cocky and gobby but he does listen to sense when he hears it. I think he'll join Saltney for a year, get some European matches under his belt, and then we can sell him to a League One side the year after."

Well In was nodding. "He is a cocky so-and-so, that's for sure. He'd jump at the chance to play alongside you in your next Euro adventure and the lads are always going on about their medals and their Wikipedia pages."

"Top."

"And Vincent Addo? Tockers?"

Those were two players I had parked at Saltney for work permit reasons and to get them trained to a decent level. Addo, Youngster's mate and fellow defensive midfielder, had added 15 points of CA through the season, which wasn't stellar but the facilities were pretty poor. Tockers, a Brazilian winger, had added 20 points, though he had started from a lower base. Addo was now CA 75; Tockers CA 62.

"There isn't much point bringing them to Chester yet," I said. "They won't get a lot of minutes. I think what we do is we give them extra training over the summer, work them hard, get them into a position where they're somewhat useful for the qualifiers, and let them have a full season in Wales, with European football, with great facilities."

"I agree," said Well In. "Vincent Addo was veering towards unhappy until he saw Youngster take to the pitch for Bayern Munich. He is very excited to think he could play in the Champions League next season, and for more than five minutes."

I closed my eyes and thought about what I'd seen when I had last checked Saltney in training. Tyson and Lucas Friend, stars of Chester's FA Youth Cup triumph, were still getting regular minutes but I would need big upgrades on them to compete in Europe. Saltney's best eleven currently had an average CA of just over 65, the same as arch-rivals TNS. TNS were paying a million pounds a year to get to that number, though. We were doing it far, far cheaper. With a comparable budget we would move laughably far ahead of them.

I got a little frisson of excitement, and unlike when thinking about the cup final, it took hold, made its way onto my face. "I'm gonna have fun shuffling players around, optimising the squads, making smart loans, using hacks to get around the squad rules. All I need today is to know that the main man's gonna be at the helm."

"Do you mean me?" said Well In.

"I do."

"Wild horses couldn't drag me away from this, Max."

Emma grabbed him by the arm. "Well In, the ladies have a question for you."

"Bye, fellas," he said, leaving in a literal puff of cartoon air.

***

Mateo was being tormented by the match, which was doubly amusing to me because his guys were controlling the game nicely but he couldn't be persuaded of that fact. He was planning to sell Tranmere and if they got promoted he would get double the fee, but his stress wasn't financial. Right then and there he was just another fan of the club, same as the rest of the guys who were cheering, chanting, clapping.

He seemed to welcome the distraction of trying to keep up with all my interests. One of my interests was one of his interests. "What about College?"

MD knew that Emma's dad had bought a team in Gibraltar and that we might be loaning players to them. "And while we're on the topic of Gibraltar, what about Bruno's Magpies? They are likely to get into European qualifying, are they not?"

"They are," I said. Apart from College and the Magpies, there was another Gibraltarian team in my sphere of influence. Gibraltar Lions had improved a lot since Henri's mother acquired it but the turnaround hadn't come quickly enough to get them into the top four places in the league. "It's going to be interesting working out which players to send where for maximum impact. I'm thinking Henri and the League Two Legends should go to College because it has the best chance of getting into the league stage again.

"The whole adventure was such a hit last time that all the Chester players were jealous of the ones who went. There won't be a shortage of volunteers. As I said, it's going to be fun working it all out."

MD said to Mateo, "If I know Max, he's going to beg me to throw money at Saltney Town so we can have a good go at the qualifiers. I suppose you would advise me to do it?"

"Definitely," said Mateo. "He's going to be there, isn't he? That makes it a no-brainer. What's interesting to me is what happens with College next time round. The local players are better, we know what to expect, we've had a model of how to go about these matches, and I think I have found a site on which to build a training complex like the one at Saltney. I'm sure we'll have a side that can compete. But does it work without Max pulling the strings?"

I said, "I am pulling the strings for College. They're gonna be in the Champions League qualifiers, too. I'm taking it mega seriously."

"Yes, but I mean in the stadium itself. Those sudden formation changes, those shifts in intention that confuse opponents. Poor Aberdeen didn't know what hit them! MD, if you're uncertain about what's coming, let's swap clubs."

MD smiled. "I'll pass, thanks. Chester and Saltney beats Tranmere and College."

I frowned. "Mateo, why don't you keep Tranmere? Seriously, I'll help you get to the Championship if you promise not to sell to some twats."

"I'm not selling to twats," said Mateo, slightly annoyed. "I'm actually talking to a consortium that features a very, very famous musician."

"Oh, Christ," I said. So the rumours were true! "You don't mean Diggy Doggy?"

Mateo bristled. "I can't reveal the names."

"Mate," I said, "What does the West Coast writer of a song called 'Cloud High' know about owning a community asset in Birkenhead?"

MD said, "Mateo can sell the club to whomever he wants."

I tried to remember some lyrics. "Wake up, bake up, twist that green..."

"Max," complained MD.

"Something something like a king with a sticky routine. I mean, ew. I don't want my Jamie meeting this person. For reals. OG in the jar, got the sparkle and sheen. Um..."

Mateo was shaking his head, not impressed that I was giving him shit over this. Nevertheless, he felt the urge to complete the verse. "Every hit I drag hit me like a lucid dream." He was delighted with himself. Hello, fellow kids! "Max, it's a consortium. It's a group. Each member brings a different asset and a famous musician brings reach.

"You know we have been pushing Beatles tours as part of our Tranmere hospitality package. Imagine they're being promoted by a world-famous artist with 90 million followers on Instagram. I knew you'd react like this but they're serious people with a good project."

"Serious," I mumbled. "Good project," I sighed. I looked up at Mateo and I think he knew what was coming because his lips tightened, straightened, curled downwards in disapproval. I sang, "Pass it left, homie, keep it in rotation. Inhale the peace..."

He cracked. "Exhale frustration!" He closed his eyes, smiling, annoyed, but when he opened them he saw two sources of torment - me and the match we were watching. He muttered, "I could use a blunt right now. Jesus Christ you're hard work, Max."

"Look, sell it to whoever you want but don't be mad if a phoenix club gets set up and I'm pictured at the first meeting, okay? That's fair, isn't it? Me getting you up into League One is another ten million quid in your pocket, isn't it? You're set. You're golden. I'm just looking out for the fans."

Once per minute, Mateo checked his phone, which had a live table based on the current scores. He did so now while I peered over. Based on the current scores, Tranmere were down to 4th. Mateo's neck tensed and while I watched his face, checking to see which parts would start twitching first, I remembered there were a few things I wanted to ask him.

"Hey, if you've got a couple of transfer deals pre-arranged, you could increase the amount you sell the club for, right? If you've got a million in cash coming in, you could bump the price by a million. Right?"

"I suppose," he said, warily.

"Let us buy Lucas Cook and Tony Herbert." Tony Herbert sounded English but was in fact from Panama. I had discovered him at the under 20 World Cup in Chile, the same trip that had led me to Foquita, an incredible Peruvian striker, and Dazza, an Australian man.

Herbert was CA 97, PA 150. He had the potential to be a good Premier League player, and he was a pure defender. Aggressive, hard, determined, just fucking loved defending, loved making blocks, tackles, winning headers, dominating his opponent. He had absolutely no chill on a football pitch.

"When you get promoted, we'll buy Lucas and loan him down to a League Two club like I told Ruth. But with Herbert, we'll agree the deal already for the following summer. You'll get to have him in your team for another year. But let's say the fee's a million quid - that will effectively go straight into your pocket, won't it? Because the new owners will know that money's coming and you can rinse them for it, or for most of it."

Mateo's head was spinning, it looked like. "You'd buy Tony with a year's delay? He would come up with us to League One?"

"Yep. That works for me because he'd be the Christian Fierce replacement, right? One less thing for me to worry about and obviously I would be gambling that Tony would continue to improve as he has been.

"Look, think about it and we can negotiate a fair price for both guys. Or one. Or neither! You're the boss. Or you can call Diggy Doggy and ask what he thinks you should do." Mateo's eyes widened, which one of his underlings might have found scary, but not me. MD tried to cover the fact that he was amused. I ploughed on. "Okay, next question. What's happening with Sam Topps?"

Sam was one of the players I had inherited at Chester, and like Vimsy there had been all kinds of friction until suddenly it all clicked and he became a hardcore member of Team Max. Like Vimsy, Sam had moved to Tranmere.

Mateo was surprised to hear the name. "In what sense?"

"His contract will be up this summer, won't it? He's barely getting minutes. Is he available? Can I talk to him about something?"

"Of course," said Mateo. "He's very popular but his legs have gone." That was an interesting thing to say because I was pretty sure Sam was still on CA 60, his maximum. He just looked slower because the players around him had gotten better.

"What do you have in mind, Max?" said MD.

"Well," I said. "I was thinking he would be an amazing head of youth development."

MD's eyes widened. "He has no experience."

I couldn't argue with that, but didn't see how relevant it was. "The only hard part of the job is telling angry dads to stop screaming at their kid and at the referee and all that. Can you imagine a dad standing up to Sam? No chance. The rest of the job is about being kind, being serious, being reassuring. Seeing through the bullshit excuses players give. Making sure the coaches are doing their job and no-one's hiding. Sam would be great, I'm sure of it. Would you trust him with your kids?"

"Absolutely," said MD.

"Yes," said Mateo.

"There you go, then. I genuinely think he will be a superstar in that role."

MD said, "This is for Chester? What about Spectrum?"

"Ah. Well, I was thinking that maybe I might finally put some resources into a data team. Spectrum always wanted to do that. In the first year he'd be mentoring Sam Topps - holy shit that's a mad turnaround, isn't it? - but we'll get more and more serious about building our own data packages and tools and whatnot. They won't be as good as Pradeep's at first, but..."

"Who's Pradeep?" said MD, which surprised me, but then again, I had barely told anyone about the games Expo.

I told them the story, trying to make it funny, but neither of them laughed. Mateo gave MD a significant look. Something like 'you do it'. MD said, "Your problem, Max, is that you wouldn't hire you."

"Of course I would. As a male model, for example."

"You wouldn't. You'd say 'we have a no dickheads rule around here' and you'd get preachy and holier-than-thou. But it's a mistake not to hire Max, isn't it?"

"Max tries fairly hard not to be a dickhead," said Max. "Pradeep doesn't try."

MD nodded. "Some people are worth the effort. I'm not an expert in the tech world but this kind of thing is very common, I believe. You have a tech wizard and you put him with someone like Spectrum who can follow what the techie is doing and who can act as an IT guy-to-human translator. Working with Spectrum all day would smooth off his edges, wouldn't it?"

"Hmm," I said, checking my shoulder for Jamie drool. It seemed dry, but if anyone was allowed to vandalise my hoodie it was my godson. "That's food for thought. I can't contact him yet, though. I want to see if he respects this boundary I specifically set for him. I was very clear."

"Understandable," said MD. "We wouldn't want anyone at Chester who pushed boundaries."

"How's your war with the EFL going?" said Mateo. "Better than the one against UEFA?"

"It's not a war. It's some gentle pushback as a reminder of who they're supposed to be working for."

"I can't wait to see the war between Max and Diggy Doggy," said Mateo, unintentionally confirming the rumours I had heard. "Manchester's angriest man versus America's most chill."

"That won't be a war, it'll be a slaughter. How can a fucking consortium beat me on the football pitch? Their demise will serve as a warning to others. Oh, it's actually going to be sweet."

MD had been mulling something over. "Talk to Brooke about this Pradeep situation. She has worked in huge companies with substantial IT departments."

"I will," I said, but my spider senses started to tingle. "Here we go." I moved closer to the big glass panel and so did the others.

Dan Badford had taken a pass and done one of his trademark spins, dancing past a lazy challenge. Dan drifted forwards, rolled a lovely pass to Henri Lyons, who took a touch and fed it out wide. Jack the Lad hared after it and fizzed a low cross that Junior, a striker, yet another good player I had recommended to Mateo, side-footed into the bottom right of the goal. In the Live Tables, Tranmere were right back in second place.

The place erupted; it was so loud that Jamie stirred. He babbled.

"What did he say?" called out Aiden.

"He said the only way is up."